The Kentucky 200K Brevet 2015

"We experience a discomfort that may be foreign

to others, but that pain opens up a world of beauty."

Craig Thompson

It is frigidly cold and has been, temperatures ranging 20 degrees below normal for this time of year per the news weather people.  Indeed, one day last week, the temperature was 15 degrees BELOW zero when I left for work.  And while tomorrow is not predicted to be that cold, it is supposed to be in the teens at the start.  Where is spring and what foreign world have I been transported into where gray and snow seem to be eternal and without surcease?

I debate whether to face the cold and ride or to grab a bottle of wine, stay home, cry and feel sorry for myself, and burrow more deeply into my grief.  Sometimes the only way out is to go further down first.  A feeling must be fully felt and experienced in order to be freed.  Burial is a stopgap leaving worms festering that will break free or warp. And it will be my wedding anniversary the day of the 200K.  Lastly, I am leaning toward not going to PBP as it seems a shame to spend that much money on something that I might not yet be able to enjoy.  In other words, I have no real, compelling reason to ride and face the cold.

  

A melancholy grin crosses my face as I remember how my husband tried to trick me into marrying him on February 29th  the year we wed. The night before we married, he stayed up all night after getting home from work installing new carpet as my mother was going to see our home for the first time.  I decide to wait and see how I feel in the morning before making up my mind.  As my grief therapist has pointed out, I can always start the ride and turn around at any time. She reminds me that nobody can tell me how long or how to grieve or what the right way to grieve is because no shoe fits every foot and there is no right way.  I just know that I am exhausted most of the time and that every day seems to be an effort, and I don't expect tomorrow to be any different.  She assures me that there will once again come a day when I will spring out of bed with anticipation, to give myself time.

I decide not to clean my bike as with the melting snow and ice it will only get dirty again, but I grease the chain and put on one of the tail lights I got for Christmas.  I decide not to use the hub generator as I hope to finish well before dark, but I add a couple of smaller headlamps just in case.  One never knows, and I am certainly out of shape and have put on a lot of weight since December.  I check to make sure I have my reflective gear and pack all sorts of winter gear in case I change my mind about what to wear when I get there. Once in bed, I remember that I have not packed Vaseline to grease my face for protection from the cold.  I know that I will be sorry if I forget it, but I just can't wrest myself out of the warm cocoon to go find and pack it. 

As it turns out, I awaken early and can't fall back asleep, so I decide to head out.  I remember to find and place the Vaseline in my bag. It is in the teens at the start, and while I decide to dispense with my wool long johns, I have layers on top to where I feel like a finger push might topple me over. Twenty riders are registered for the ride, nineteen of them men.  Of the twenty, four do not show.  Of the sixteen left, three DNF.  So, out of twenty people, only seven have the good sense not to spend the entire day out in the frigid cold riding a bicycle because of God only knows what psychological aberration or need.

Because of the cold, there is little of the normal pre-ride parking lot conversation whispering through the air.  A few hellos are exchanged, but not much other than that.  But there are head lights and tail lights and the clicks of derailleurs during those last minute checks.  And all too soon, or perhaps with the cold, not soon enough, we are off.  My hands tingle and I hope I don't spend the whole day in discomfort, but there you are.  When you put on weight and don't ride your bike and you add that it is COLD, can you expect not to be uncomfortable?  But soon the rhythm and the gentle exercise warms me.

During the first of the ride, or actually throughout the ride, I must admit that I keep asking myself why I am out here.  I wish I could tell you that I enjoyed this ride, that I didn't cry at times throughout the ride, that  memories did not rise up and threaten to overwhelm me when I rode alone or even when I rode with others.  I wish I could tell you that I did not consider turning around at or before the first control and particularly right after the first control following the descent on Devil's Hollow where the wind took advantage of every nook and cranny gaining entrances in unexpected places and chilling me to the very bone.  I can't.  But I can tell you that despite the hellishness of the descent, it was strikingly beautiful with icicles lining the sides of the descent and snow intensifying the stark outlines of the branches of the trees on the hillside.  And I can tell you that I finished with Tony, Tim, and Scott dragging me along the last of the ride, particularly on the hills when each additional pound means additional seconds and additional effort.  And I can tell you that parts of the route and the snow covered terrain were beautiful, breathtakingly so. Pain does, indeed, open a world of beauty at times.

And the weather, while cold, is a gift in this accomplishment as well.  There is wind, but not a strong wind.  There is not a great deal of temperature variation so there is  no need for additional stops to add and subtract layers.   This is not an "epic" ride as so many of the Kentucky brevets have been:  no rain, sleet, hail, and strong wind.  It is merely cold, and you can dress for cold if you spend the money and have the right gear. 

 But despite the fact that this was not an "epic" ride, it was a painful ride due to my poor conditioning. And I will remember this ride. I will remember this brevet because for me I think it was a good choice, one of many and one of few in a long line of the choices that determine the course that our lives take.  And I will remember the kindness of those that could have ridden off and gotten out of the cold earlier, who I urged to ride on more than once but didn't, but rather stayed and kept me company, even engendering a few smiles that were made with more than my lips.  I will remember the warmth of a hug by a friend at the end of the ride, a comfort that I really miss.  Thanks to everyone who made this  happen and helped me through this most difficult of days.  

Now as to the 300K, it is looking doubtful, but who knows.  Like childbirth, the pain of a brevet tends to diminish in the mind with the passage of time until only the accomplishment of completion remains. 

"No one is useless in this world who lightens

the burdens of another."  Charles Dickens

Mistakes During Brevets and During Life

"I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're Doing Something.

So that's my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it.

Make your mistakes, next year and forever.”
BY― Neil Gaiman

When I came upon this post by Mr. Gaiman, I was immediately smitten  by his idea.  Who hopes to make mistakes?  Who wishes this for others? Mistakes are those things that you castigate yourself for making, things that cause your self view to deteriorate rather than build, things that cause that inner voice to stay stupid, stupid, stupid.  But perhaps I have been looking at things the wrong way all along.  Perhaps mistakes are good things as well as just being necessary and inevitable things.

I thought about my years of riding and the mistakes I have made and what I have learned from them.  The knowledge has been invaluable and has laid the groundwork for future successes.  Perhaps without those mistakes, there would have been more failures and less successes.  Or perhaps the failures were the successes because I certainly learned more from my failures than I have from my successes.  Perhaps even my idea of success has been convoluted.  Perhaps all actions are successes so long as they help us to move forward rather than to sit motionlessly.  And can I, a person who is troubled by changes, who struggles with changes,  make this change in my way of thinking?

When I first began riding, I normally used a camelbak to meet my hydration needs.  Firstly, my bicycle handling skills were lacking even more so than they are today.  A hydration back pack allowed me to keep my hands on the handlebars and respond more quickly.  Secondly, a hydration pack kept me from drifting to one side as I pulled the bottle out of the bottle cage and allowed me to drink without worrying I would cause someone to have an accident. And thirdly, in the winter, worn underneath my jacket, it kept the water from freezing so there was something to drink. But I remember one winter ride where I was in a rush and I didn't cap the pack correctly. The water spilled out during the ride.  Luckily I was only about 20 miles from home when I realized I was sopping wet.  By the time I reached home, the jersey was beginning to freeze and stiffen and huge,uncontrollable shivers were claiming my body despite pedaling to beat the band.  

What did I learn from this?  I learned that it pays to take the time to be sure that your equipment is operating the way it should.  That it can be uncomfortable or possibly dangerous not to do so.  And this extends from camelbaks to all your equipment. Check tires before rolling, not just for air but for bald spots or imbedded shards of glass.  One nightmare I have is a front tire blowing out on my way down a gloriously long and steep hill, possibly because I have seen this happen to another rider much more skilled than I and perhaps because I sometimes take downhills much faster than perhaps I should.  Luckily my friend was okay, just bruised and shaken,  but it could have been so much worse.  If you are going to ride, you just have to accept the possibility that these things could happen to you, probably will happen to you at some time or another, but accept that risk and not dwell on it. Because another mistake is not doing things because of what "might" happen.  Things happen regardless:  all we can do is make the best possible preventative measures.

I also learned the value of appropriate winter clothing, an ongoing lesson and an ongoing experiment with myself.  I have come to love wool and to use it and to use bar mitts even though I don't love them.  I have learned that for the most part, you get what you pay for, and that some things are worth saving for even if they are outrageously expensive.   I have learned that you can be comfortable under most winter conditions in this area if you have the appropriate clothing.  I have learned that the importance of warmth far exceeds the value of fashion and to ignore people when they sneer at my less than attractive winter riding gear. 

Another time I was on a brevet with two friends, Dick "Grasshopper" Krakowski, and Bill Pustow, when I had a flat after heedlessly crossing a  metal bridge that had a sharp edge that caused me to flat.  Cursing the loss of time but not yet concerned, I changed the tube and pulled out my CO2 inflator to fill it with air.  The inflator broke.  My regular pump was on another of my bicycles. Grasshopper said not to worry, he had his pump, but for some reason or another he either had forgotten it or it didn't work.  Bill thought he had something as well, but if I remember correctly he also had forgotten to pack it.  After what was a comedy of errors, somehow, and I don't remember how, I got the darned thing inflated and we were on our way.  But I learned to always check my bags before a brevet, or before any long ride, to make sure I have at least the basic repair tools with me.  As I have often said, it is better to carry things you don't need rather than to need them and not have them.  And while he would desperately try, my husband would never find me out on the country roads that are the Kentucky brevets.

And I could go on and on about the mistakes I have made:  not drinking enough, not eating enough, not resting enough, not dressing properly, not riding at my own pace, not testing new equipment before depending on it, etc.  But that would a novel unto itself.  I could go on about my fears, enough to fill several novels, but I overcame my fear of brevets, at least for the most part, though I do respect them. I suppose everyone makes as many mistakes as I do and maybe has as many fears.  And perhaps that is a good thing.  Neil Gaiman says to do something that I am afraid of doing, and perhaps that will be a New Years Resolution because it is hard for me and I  am afraid of so many things, including making mistakes. It is just hard to choose:  there are so many mistakes to be made including the mistake of being afraid of mistakes;-)  Ride on, friends, make the mistakes and learn.  We will make them regardless because that is the nature of the beast.  But what a shame when our fears stand in our way of trying something new.